I had always believed that you were nothing until you made yourself something. That there was a measure for if you were a worthy person. You didn’t mean anything if no one knew your name. I put a lot of pressure on myself to worry about my future and if I would “measure up.”

         That was until I found myself in Franklin Square with my friends Austin and Daniel. That’s where we met Mike, a guy, omit homeless, who sells records at the bus stop. He owns an old cart full of records and CDs. He uses the few bucks he makes to buy himself food at the convenience store and returns to the park bench at night. Although he owns virtually nothing, he had a better attitude and outlook than most of us and couldn’t wait until the day he could get off the streets.

          A few months later during a chilly fall day in New York City, the sun had gone down, and it was eerily quiet enough that you could hear the clack of my heels on the sidewalk. I was walking alongside my uncle and brother, leaving the Fox News Studios on 6th avenue (Avenue of the Americas is what the tourists call it). I had just met up with a very prominent and well-respected figure in politics. This person formerly held a prestigious White House job and had an inspiring personal story to go along with their career. As some would call it, success, purpose, a story.

          As I turned the corner onto W 48th street, I saw a homeless man. He had a sign that read “I’m a veteran. A human being. I am someone’s son, brother, and friend.” As I walked by him, I felt embarrassed wearing a fancy coat, dress, shoes, and jewelry. Who I am to have the privilege to wear that? I pondered about who that man was and how he ended up alone on the streets. Where was he from? What is his name? Whose son, is he? Whose brother, is he?

          Prior to my experience in New York, I had met Linda. Living in a Philadelphia homeless shelter with only $5 to her name, she thanked me for the volunteer work I was doing and started to build a friendship with me. I passed her as ignorant. She had absolutely nothing to contribute to this world, no money or worth, yet she was beaming! How stupid.

          It was one day that I realized how utterly wrong I was. One of my coworkers shared stories of her life. Her father and brother had both died when she was young. Her story told how she went through rounds of drugs and prison, and now, was clean and working a steady job. She has a boyfriend, mother, and “stepchild” to look after. Day in and day out, she serves customers with a smile, is an amazing cook, and treats every person with respect and kindness.

          Every person has a story, something to contribute to this world, and someone who loves them.

          It doesn’t matter if you’re single or married, black or white, Jewish or Christian, a doctor or a cashier.

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This I believe…

that every person has dignity.

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